The Rescue of Delphini Black
by FFcrazy15
Summary: "An old tradition holds that on the day of ordination a priest may ask one special favor of God. After thinking long and hard, Seamus had finally settled on his wish: that should ever he cross the path of an Irish soul in need of his help, he would never fail to notice it…" In which a priest, two healers and headmistress change the course of history. (Full and New ficverse, 3-shot)


Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do profit from this work produced here. I am also not a mandatory reporter so my account of what would happen in such a circumstance is indubitably flawed. (Blame it on the wizarding world, eh?)

Summary: "An old tradition holds that on the day of ordination a priest may ask one special favor of God. After thinking long and hard, Seamus had finally settled on his wish: that should ever he cross the path of an Irish soul in need of his help, he would never fail to notice it…" In which a priest, two healers and headmistress change the course of history. ( _Full and New_ ficverse, 3-shot)

 **Warnings: spoilers for "Full and New," religious leanings.**

 _ **A/N:**_ **Hello, everyone! So I intended to post this a week ago on St. Patrick's Day, but it ran a bit late. This is my explanation why, in my ficverse ("Full and New," you can find it on my profile)** _ **The Cursed**_ ** _Child_ never happened. Hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

There's an old Irish legend, about the day Good St. Patrick went up a mountain to bargain with the Lord.

Tradition holds that old Patrick, the loving bishop of the Green Isle's people, fasted day and night upon the mountain, weeping and beating his breast until the angel of God came down to hear his plea. "And what would ye ask of God, Bishop Patrick?" said the angel.

"I ask of God that never, by consent or force, should the heathen take hold of Erin again," the holy bishop replied.

The angel flew up to Heaven to speak with God, and then returned. "God has answered your prayer, Bishop Patrick. Never, by consent or force, will the unbelieving heathen take hold of Erin. And what else would ye ask of God?"

"I ask of God that seven years before the day of peril, the Apocalypse of the Lord, that good Erin be covered with the sea," St. Patrick said, "For the Good Lord Himself has said, ' _Unless these days had been shortened, no flesh should be saved: but for the sake of the elect those days shall be shortened.'"_

Again, the angel flew up to Heaven and conversed with God, and then returned. "God has answered your prayer once more, Bishop Patrick. Seven years before the end of days, Erin will be covered by the waters. And what else would ye ask of God?"

"I ask of God, last of all, for the right to judge Erin myself upon that last day, for I have great compassion for my flock."

"This," said the angel, "will surely not be allowed."

But St. Patrick wept and pleaded with such fervor, vowing that he should not move from that mountain until he knew his people would be saved from peril, that at last the angel agreed and flew up to Heaven. There he spoke with God, and returned again to the mountain.

"By the intercession of the holy apostles and indeed the whole of creation, God has granted your prayer."

"A great blessing from the Almighty King is this!" St. Patrick replied. "Therefore, I shall leave this mountain." And so it is said that on Holy Thursday, the good Bishop Patrick came down form the mountain, having interceded thus that not one of his flock should be lost to the beast.

* * *

Fr. Seamus Finnegan of County Cork had heard this pious old legend since he was but a wee lad upon his mamaí's knee, long before he was a freedom fighter or received his order of Merlin, and had born it in mind all his young life. Another old tradition holds that on the day of ordination, a priest may ask one special favor of God. After thinking long and hard, Seamus had finally settled on his wish: that should ever he cross the path of an Irish soul in need of his help, he would never fail to notice it, and therefore to help the conversion of his motherland back to Holy God and prepare it for those last of days.

And, like Patrick on the mountain, it seemed that God had answered. For Fr. Seamus Finnegan was not only a priest, but also a wizard, and from the moment his bishop's hands touched his shoulders, he had never failed to feel his magic pull him towards a poor child of Erin in need of his aid, no matter their appearance or demeanor.

So it was not surprising to him when, late one night in late March of the two-thousand and tenth year of Our Lord, he suddenly felt himself stopped and turned towards a run-down pub. Seamus sighed. It had been a long day; an ecclesiastical conference for the British and Irish wizarding clergy had just finished up earlier that afternoon, and he was very quickly realizing that he would have to rewrite all of his homilies for the rest of Lent. _Now, Lord?_ he demanded, exhausted.

 _Yes,_ the all-too-smug voice of his conscience replied.

Seamus sighed again, turned, and headed into the pub, subtly drawing his wand from his cassock pocket. He'd learned the hard way that just because the Good Lord Above wanted somebody saved didn't always mean that the person _wanted_ saving.

It was obviously a muggle pub; the patrons, mostly men, were dressed in ordinary clothes. Several of them cast him odd or even hostile looks, which Seamus ignored, scanning the room.

His eyes were drawn to a table in the corner, and he found with surprised that it was occupied by not an adult, but a young child, perhaps no more than twelve years of age. She was eating from a steaming bowl of stew, dressed in an antiquated black dress that seemed, like his own attire, to belong to a different era. Seamus blinked, wondering what eejit of a bartender had allowed a child to sit down alone in a pub, before it dawned on him that not a single person besides him seemed to notice the girl. Their eyes slid right over her. _A witch, then._

The girl looked up as Seamus approached her. She was very small, almost too thin, with black hair and piercing dark eyes. As soon as she set gaze on him, Seamus felt the sudden intrusion of an Imperius curse. He stopped, startled, and immediately threw up an occlumency shield (a skill, he was grateful, that had been taught to all the seminarians in his diocese). The girl glared at him, trying harder, but the priest resisted until at last she relented, looking down.

"What do you want?" she muttered lowly as he sat down opposite her.

"This is no place fer a young lass like yourself," he replied firmly. She shot him an ugly look. "What's your name?"

The girl didn't answer. Seamus sighed again. "Well then, where are you from? Do your parents know you're here?"

"Haven't got any," she muttered insolently. "Don't want any, either."

"Who takes care of you?"

"Me."

Seamus eyed her shrewdly. "Fer how long?"

The girl glanced up, startled by his insight. It was then that he noticed that her pupils were strangely small, as if she were staring into a bright light, despite the fact that the pub was rather dim. Warning bells sounded in his mind; frozen pupils was a telltale sign of recent subjection to the cruciatus curse. From that… well, it wasn't hard to put two and two together. He leaned forward.

"Lass… do you need help?"

The girl stared at him for a long moment, stunned. Then her mouth began to quiver, and tears filled her eyes. She buried her face in her hands. "Don't send me back!" she wept. "Please, I don't want to go back! She hates me! She'll hurt me!"

The priest's heart broke. "I'm not sendin' you anywhere," he promised, standing. "But you need a healer. I can side-along you to St. Mungo's."

The girl shook her head, still crying. "They'll send me back! I don't want to go back!"

It was clear she didn't trust him, or anyone else. Seamus decided to try one last time. "Me name is Fr. Finnegan," he told her. "I give you me word, lass, I won't let them send you back to anyone who would hurt you. Wizard's oath." He held out his hand.

The girl stared at it for a long moment, clearly in debate. She looked around the rowdy pub, looking so very small and alone. At last, she turned back to the priest.

"My name is Delphini," she whispered. "Delphini Black."

Then she grabbed his hand, and the pair vanished into thin air.

* * *

"Healer Malfoy?"

Draco Malfoy, head of the Dark Magic Recovery Ward at St. Mungo's Hospital, paused halfway through a report and sighed, looking up over the top of his glasses. "Sister Hilda, this had better be important."

"It is, sir," the young nurse said nervously. "There's a man here to see you. A Fr. Finnegan?"

Draco sat up straighter, surprised. "Seamus Finnegan is here? To see me?"

"He didn't give his first name, sir. But there's a child with him– and he says he's here to report a case of abusive dark magic."

"The child's name?"

"Delphini Black. That's what he said, anyhow– the girl isn't talking."

"Black?" Draco demanded, rising to his feet. "But that's–" He fell silent, thinking, and then took off his glasses, picking up his wand. "Sister, put in a call to the auror office; tell them we need someone for a mandatory reporter veritaserum test." After a thought, he added, "Ask for Chief Weasley. And send Finnegan and the girl to exam room C."

"Yes, Healer Malfoy." The nurse left, and Draco, still deep in thought, headed for the examination room. _Black… but how? I would have known… must be some mistake…_

He waved his wand at the lights in the exam room and sat down at a desk, drawing out several forms. After a minute the door opened, and a familiar face peeked its head in.

"Malfoy? Is this yours?"

He gestured vaguely, scanning the papers. "Come in, Finnegan. And bring the girl."

The Irishman nodded and looked over his shoulder, murmuring, "Go in, Delphini; he's a good man, I promise."

The door opened again, and Draco caught his breath, his suspicions confirmed.

There was no denying that the girl was Aunt Bella's daughter; he could see it in everything from her wild black curls, tied back with a satin bow, to her upturned nose, to her perpetually insolent, pouting expression. Nevertheless, he was surprised; he'd always heard that Aunt Bella and Uncle Rodolphus had been barren, and more to the point, where had the girl been hiding all these years? "Hello," he said kindly, as she shut the door behind her. "I'm Healer Malfoy, I believe we might be cousins."

"I know who you are," the girl replied. "You're Aunt Narcissa's son. The blood-traitor." There was no malice to her voice, only typical Black arrogance, as if she were simply stating facts she'd learned by rote.

Draco nodded. "That's right." The girl looked back without a word, and he turned to Seamus. "Where did you find her?"

"A pub down south of the river. She's a runaway."

"And you didn't call the Auror Office?"

"She's had dark magic used on her recently," Seamus replied. "I figured medical help was more important at the moment."

Draco nodded and turned back to Delphini. "Who's your guardian, Delphini? With whom do you live?"

"I don't want to go back," she said immediately, turning to Seamus. "Fr. Finnegan, you said I wouldn't have to go back!"

"And you won't," Draco interjected calmly, redirecting her attention, "if someone really has been using dark magic on you. We just need to know who it is that's been doing this to you, so we can give the Aurors a full report." But the girl didn't answer.

"It's alright, Delphini," the priest urged, "You can tell him." Still, the young Black did not speak.

Draco frowned, leaning forward, and the girl jerked away, her dark eyes wide. He hastily withdrew, but did not fail to notice that her pupils had not changed, regardless of how his shadow had shielded the beaming of the light. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you. Delphini, _can_ you tell us who's been caring for you?"

She shook her head.

"You're under a spell, is that it?"

A nod.

"Well, no matter that; we'll have it lifted by tomorrow at the latest. Now, has this person recently used dark magic on you?"

Delphini hesitated, and then nodded.

"The cruciatus curse?"

She dropped her eyes. That was all the reply Draco needed. "Alright; Delphini, Fr. Finnegan and I are going to talk a bit, so I'll send in a nurse to watch you for a while." His cousin remained obstinately silent, so he knelt down, meeting her eyes. "Delphini," he said firmly, "I need your word that you'll stay here and that you won't run off. Can you promise me that?"

The girl looked back, her near-black eyes glittering like onyx in the light. Draco found he couldn't read them, and was surprised; Aunt Bellatrix had always worn her emotions, however mad, for all the world to see. How strange it was, to see such guardedness on the mirror of his aunt's face. "…I promise," Delphini replied at last, though her voice was wooden and he couldn't say how much he trusted her vow. Nevertheless, he smiled and stood.

"Good. Finnegan, with me."

They left the exam room, and Draco shut the door behind him, turning to the priest. "Finnegan… you must know this looks bad."

Immediately the other man grew tense. "I swear, I had nothin' to do with whoever hurt her," he vowed. "You can question me, under veritaserum if you like!"

"We're going to have to. Weasley should be here any minute– well, speak of the devil."

Seamus looked over to see a long, freckled face and a shock of red hair making his way down the hall, accompanied by a young nun. Draco nodded as they approached. "Weasley. Thank you for coming so quickly; Sister Hilda, if you could wait with the girl?"

The nurse nodded and disappeared into the exam room. Ronald waited until the door had shut to say, "This had better be important, Malfoy; 'Mione's got dinner waiting back home."

"Would you consider the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange to be important?"

Both the priest and the chief auror looked at him, shocked. "The daughter of– _who?"_ Ron demanded.

Draco glanced around, taking note of possible eavesdroppers, and nodded down the hallway. "My office. This way."

* * *

"And you're _sure_ she's Bellatrix's daughter?"

The healer sighed. "For the fifth time, Weasley, I can't be sure until we run a blood test. But I have good reason to think–"

"Weren't you there that whole year? How did you not know that crazy old bat had a daughter? Who'd ever even get in the sack with her, anyway? Er– sorry, Seamus," Ron apologized, glancing to the priest.

Finnegan waved it off. "Look, we canna know anythin' fer certain until you've got me cleared. So give me the bluddy potion and let's get this over with."

Ron and Draco glanced to each other and then nodded. The healer fetched a corked vial of clear serum from his potions cabinet and handed it to the auror, who in turn administered it to the priest. There was a pause while they waited for the potion to take effect; when Seamus's face went pale, Ronald pulled a muggle-style police recorder from his pocket and clicked it on. "Mandatory reporter veritaserum questioning of Fr. Seamus Finnegan regarding the alleged abuse of minor witch, Delphini Black," he said. "Questioning conducted under Chief Superintendent Ronald Weasley of the British Auror Office, in the presence of secondary witness Healer Draco Malfoy. Seventeenth of March, 2010." He looked up and nodded to Seamus, who took a deep breath.

"What is your full legal name?"

"Seamus Pádraig Finnegan," he answered immediately.

"And what is your occupation?"

"I'm a Roman Catholic priest for the wizarding diocese of County Cork, Ireland."

"Where and when did you first encounter the underage witch known as Delphini Black?"

They went through the whole story, before Ron doubled back, asking Seamus to explain how he'd known that the girl was in the pub in the first place. He seemed a little suspicious when the priest explained his "gift," but Malfoy sat up straighter, surprised.

"You say she's Irish?"

"At least partly. She must be; otherwise I wouldn't have known she was there."

"But that can't be; the Blacks aren't Irish. Neither are the Lestranges, come to think of it…"

"I canna explain it," Seamus said with a shrug. "I only know what I felt."

But now Malfoy had gone very pale; he stood and paced to the other end of the room, running a hand through his white-blond hair. "Malfoy?" Ron said, concerned.

"It can't be," the healer muttered under his breath. "It can't… there's no way _he_ could have…"

"Malfoy, what's going on?" the auror demanded, rising to his feet.

The healer didn't answer him directly, instead moving to the filing cabinet beside his desk. "We don't need Delphini's blood to do a genealogy test. Mine should suffice…"

"Is that even legal?" Seamus wondered aloud.

Malfoy said nothing, instead pulling out a sheaf of parchment paper. It seemed to glimmer in the light as he set it down on the desk. " _Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,"_ he murmured under his breath, _"_ _Fair Ravenclaw, from glen;_ s _weet Hufflepuff, from valley broad;_ s _hrewd Slytherin, from fen…"_

"Malfoy, what are you on about?"

The healer didn't look up, instead drawing a syringe from his medical bag. "It is widely believed," he began, "that Salazar Slytherin came the fens of England. This, they say, is where he learned the art of Parseltongue."

He pricked the tip of his finger with the needle and let out a hiss of pain. "It is also," he muttered, pressing his finger to the parchment, "completely false."

The trio watched as the drop of blood sank into the paper, and then began to spread, veins of red blooming across the paper and curling themselves into names, dates, even pictures. Larger and larger the tree climbed, until Ronald Weasley saw even his own name near the bottom, and those of his children, while above them the branches grew and grew–

Malfoy tapped it with his wand, sucking in a deep breath. The burgeoning tree froze, and the three men fell silent, for there, at top left corner, lay the face and name of none other than Salazar Slytherin. Still graver they grew as their eyes traced the line downwards to where at last the Irish founder's blood mingled with that of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

"…Bloody basilisks," Ron Weasley breathed at last.

Draco Malfoy sank into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm afraid Madame Minister's dinner will have to wait, Weasley," he said tiredly. "This just became her problem as well."

And Father Seamus Finnegan of County Cork said nothing at all, merely stared down at the paper, where, emblazoned in scarlet, a child of Erin's fate had been sealed:

 _Delphini Merope Riddle_

 _January 1_ _st_ _, 1998_

 _Heiress of the House of Slytherin_

* * *

 **A/N: So what did you think? Please leave a review! A belated happy St. Patrick's Day to you all!**


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